What Now?
by Shortstakk7932
Summary: OC/Garcia. It is a little sneek peek into what went on with Alecta my OC just prior to her entering the BAU. And it briefly looks at the first meeting that she had with Garcia.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Ok, so I was in a less than stellar mood today. In a matter of less than six months I have cut ties with two friends I have known for about 20yrs. I guess I was outgrowing the friendships; or I was starting to feel like I was putting more into them than I was getting out of them. Friendships like anything else should be equal parts of give and take. This story reflects a bit of the mood I was in at the time. I look around me at some of the knickknacks I have acquired over the years that I have gotten for Christmas or birthdays from the two of them, or I hear a song on the radio that used to be 'one of our jams', and I wonder 'what the hell happened'. **

**This story features, mainly, my OC that I created for my story 'Who Are You'. This gives a little glimpse into her back story. I will revisit it in part in later chapters of 'Who Are You'. **

**Since I don't have any friends really close by to talk to anymore when I feel like this, this is the result.**

**Hope somebody likes it out there.**

Here she was, more alone than ever before. She was trying her hardest to be happy about the upcoming changes to her life. She had managed to flee from a _bloody_ miserable marriage. Now she had been living in the area of Quantico, VA for about two, maybe three, months.

She couldn't take it anymore. She had known her estranged husband for nearly 10 years and been married to him for eight. She hadn't known what he was like until just after they said 'I Do'.

That night it started, and it never stopped. At first it was a random slap or punch when she had giggled at something he had told her to do, not understanding how very serious he was. Soon enough his hand was around her throat and she couldn't breathe. She wasn't even out of her wedding dress yet.

She was Alecta. The last name never mattered. King, Vsevolodovich, and now Davis. The fact of the matter was she was Alecta first and foremost. She was a lethal weapon. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes, she was able to kill a person without aid of a weapon if the situation demanded it. But for eight years of her life she had been a prisoner in her own marriage. She was, up until about three months ago, a detective with the L.A.P.D.; she was part of the sex crimes division. Ironically enough, so was the husband she was trying desperately to get away from. She beat herself up daily over how she could have let herself be trapped like that. When she really sat down to think about it she supposed it came down to the fact it all took her by surprise.

With him being in the same department as she was, she never thought a thing about him being a violent man; he'd always been so caring with the victims and their families during the cases he had worked. And that was initially what had caught her attention about him. That and the fact that he was exceptionally tall and handsome. Tall men had always been her ultimate weakness, and it would likely remain so for the rest of her life. When would she ever learn? Her father was a tall man; he was about 6'7 or 6'8. But if he had been the template for what she thought she wanted in life, she would have become a nun. Her child hood sweet heart, Kevin, was about the same height; give or take a couple of inches. She should have married him and had a million kids by now, living in one of their ancestral homes, being happy. But….

But that night of her wedding with Fletcher was like somebody had flipped a switch. The man that had made her smile again, the man that had helped her pick herself back up out of the darkness that had swallowed her life was gone. In his place was this monster. The transition had happened so fast, it felt like she got whiplash.

Eight years; and what, three, maybe four miscarriages because of the beatings he would hand out on a nearly daily basis. And he was smart, being the detective that he was, he knew not to leave a mark on her that clothing couldn't cover. It didn't matter if it could be hidden by make-up. There was always a chance that someone with good eyes could still see it. And more to the point it would be just like Alecta to not wear make-up on it just to see if anyone happened to notice what was happening to her.

There was only one successful pregnancy during her entire marriage. As soon as she was able to find out what was going on, why she was feeling so ill, she came up with a plan to hide the pregnancy from Fletcher. He knew about her work with the Sisters of St. Agnes, he knew that it would periodically take her to whatever God forsaken corner of the world. That was her out. Her friend Immogene helped arrange it. Alecta would basically globe trot until it was too close to her due date. It would allow her to check on the other chapters in the cities that she hit, and it would make it look good if Fletcher tried to check her story out. Her final destination had been Istanbul. She had her latest set of twins in a hospital as close to the Hagia Sophia as she could get.

Alecta currently hobbled over to one of the large windows in her flat that looked out over the river. This had been Kevin's idea, and it was a good one. He had flown to L.A. after turning in his sheriff's badge back home in NC. He came when he received the package of information that she had sent him about her decision to file for divorce and run. He'd known which motel to find her at; she'd told him in a personal note that was slipped into his copy of the file. By the time he'd gotten there though, he'd been too late. Fletcher had already found her and done his number on her, and she wound up in the hospital. As soon as she was released, Kevin and his former deputies flew her back east with them. The closest that they could get her to coming completely home was to Quantico. It stood to reason. She was going to be transferring there in the first place; she should get settled as soon as possible.

Her entrance into the FBI had been swift enough. They had told her years ago that, due to her efforts in that sex trafficking case, she would be fast tracked. Add that to the fact that she could use Agent Rossi as a reference if she had no other recourse, and it was a solid deal. She just didn't really know what had happened to the old goat. Was he still retired? She had no clue. Alecta hadn't heard from him in years. He hadn't ever really kept in touch. She didn't expect him to. She was use to lip service from others. But then again she hadn't bothered to call him either. After she got out of the cracker box, she just wanted to put everything behind her. It was over; there was nothing that was going to bring her husband and three children back. No amount of tears was going to bring them back. Talking wasn't going to help. Talking only made her feel worse. What was calling Rossi and hashing everything over going to accomplish?

She had kept the book he gave her. The binding was frayed, most pages were dog-eared. She could nearly recite it word for word. It was one of the few prized possessions she had. It was in a cabinet along with some talismans that she got from a bunch of old gypsies that she knew, as well as some religious icons that she got from the old patriarch of the Russian Orthodox Church that had officiated her wedding to Yuri. She didn't have the nerve to ask the old man how he came across them. She was most likely better off not knowing. Father Angelov's cunning made her smile.

Kevin and his fellas had helped her acquire an old abandoned warehouse in the old industrial district of Quantico that was near the river. They were going to turn this into another one of the citadels that dotted the US and half of the developed world. This would be a place that rescued women and children of trafficking rings all over the world could be brought and housed in safety and given real educations and jobs earning honest money. These places were the St. Agnes's answer to Ellis Island.

As it was right now, her flat was the only furnished place in the compound. There was much work to be done. Various safety features would have to be added; closed circuit TV, etc.

She could get her hacker friend to help her out with that. Alecta remembered the first time she met that woman.

Alecta's mother had been murdered by her father while she watched; Alecta had only been about four years old at the time. Over the years her life got worse and worse. Her father, Jake, and his friends (mainly Lucky, Bill, and Bobby) had been kidnapping women from some of the bars and clubs around the area that they frequented. They would do a lot of tortuous things to these women; things that they wouldn't even dare do to Alecta…although, that didn't leave much to the imagination. She was their favorite.

There was one final straw. There was a girl that they had abducted. She was a bit taller than Alecta, she had blonde hair. Alecta could tell the girl was on the young side, compared with the other women that her father and his pals had taken before. Even though Alecta barely remembered her mother something about this girl reminded her of her mother. Her mom, Rachel, had been a tall blonde haired woman. When Rachel was killed she was only about 21 or 22. She had been young when she married Jake. And when Rachel had Alecta she was only about 17. Her mother's life had been short and violent.

One day after the girl had been brought into the house, her father and his friends had gone on a bar crawl. One of them stupidly left a car in the yard. Watching them leave the house from the window behind her bed, Alecta saw her chance. She ran down the hall to an empty room that they mainly used for storage and rummaged through a couple of boxes. She came across some old clothes that had belonged to her mother and an old flannel blanket. Next she ran down stairs and made sure to take a knife with her so that she could cut the bindings on the girl's hands and feet. She gave the girl the clothes she'd found and told her to come with her. They went outside and managed to hotwire the car. Alecta gave directions and the other girl drove; Alecta didn't have a license, and she didn't want to risk getting pulled over at such a crucial moment. They finally made it to the sheriff's department about 10-15 minutes later.

Once at the department she made sure that there was a deputy that the girl could speak with right away. The deputy began taking her statement and Alecta began to leave the sheriff's department.

"You can't let that kid go back there."

"Ma'am, you have to tell me what you know."

"I will tell you anything you want to hear, but you can't let that girl go back to that house alone. If they find out that she helped me escape…."

"At least tell me what your name is first."

"Please, stop her. Don't let her leave."

"A name."

"Ugh. Fine. Penelope Garcia."

**How bad do ya'll hate me for that one? I should be clearing up the rest of it at a later date….just have to watch out for it. **


	2. Storm's Brewing

**AN: Ok, so I thought that this was going to be a one shot. But I changed my mind. It just seemed silly to keep it as a one shot and then make another one shot just picking up where that one left off. When I was thinking of writing this chapter I was listening to 'Paradise' by ColdPlay. Anyway, here we go.**

There was a storm raging outside; rain battered the window sill, lightning and thunder crashing. Alecta woke with a start. She had to look around to be sure of where she was. There was a faint glow coming from a dim light she left on in her master bathroom. She'd been terrified of the dark nearly all her life; some things never change. Once she was able to discern that she was still in her own bed, safely tucked away in her fortress her breathing slowed down. It was just a nightmare; just another vivid nightmare. She sat up in bed with her covers still over her from the hips down; her whole body was shaking. She could still smell the stale cigarettes and cheap booze that had wafted through the nightmare. Alecta knew she had to calm down before she could even get out of bed. That memory of her friend Penelope, thinking of having to cross paths again, that had brought this on.

Penelope wasn't a bad person at all. That wasn't the problem. Pen was awesome. They had good times usually when they had anytime to hang out in all the years they've known each other. But Alecta guessed it had a lot to do with their shared 'experiences' and the fact that, now, they would be working together all the time with people that could read each other like a bunch of books. They would both do whatever they had to do to protect their own privacy. And Penelope had been doing a stellar job of keeping people out of her private business, telling them just what they needed to know, for years. And Alecta had been pretty successful on her own, too. But once it came out that they knew each other, all bets were off. There would be questions; lots of questions. Neither woman wanted to have to deal with it. How was Penelope going to be able to deal with everyone eventually finding out all the things that Alecta's father, Jake, had done to her? How would the team treat Alecta once they found out? And then there was what happened when the traffickers picked Pen up, thinking that she was on to their little enterprise and would rat them out to the authorities. Yes, it was true; they both had a lot of issues that they didn't want to allow to see the light of day.

Sliding out of bed finally, Alecta knew she was going to be awake forever now. There was no way that she would ever be able to go back to sleep. The smell of her father's cigarette smoke and beer would linger in her nose for days. She'd be damned lucky if she'd be able to eat anything.

The nightmare was one of the same one's she always had; her father coming into her room.

When she was a little girl the routine was always the same. Jake would go out on some kind of bender with his pals; the usual suspects. It was always Jake, Lucky, Rusty, and Billy. There were a few others that would join them at the bar. But the four of them were thicker than thieves. After their bar crawl, Jake would come home, beat his wife a little more, and then head for Alecta's room. Before he went to bed he always made it a point to come into her room and tell her how she was daddy's sweet darling girl, his doll baby. And he always reeked of those foul smelling cigarettes; they weren't even a decent brand. And if the smell of the stale smoke wasn't enough to take her breath away, then the brewery that was his breath would do the trick. But Alecta had learned a long time ago not to bother trying to hide from him. In his drunken state he was apt to think it was all a game of hide & seek. All it ever did was prolong the inevitable. Prolonging it made her stomach hurt worse. Once, back when she used to hide from him, she got so upset that, by the time he found her, she threw up on his shoes. Another thing she learned was not to cry or scream. It never did any good. That's why he would beat her momma first. That way she would be nearly incapacitated and would be of no use to Alecta if she did try to yell for help. Most nights Alecta would just sit in bed, waiting, shaking she was so afraid of what would be coming through that door.

Walking into the kitchen in her flat, she rummaged through one of her cabinets for a cup. She didn't have glass drinking vessels. Most of her dishes were the cheap plastic ware like most people sit out for summer or spring with the bright colors. She was terrified of breaking the other kind of dishes. The only real dishes she had at all would be her cookware; that she splurged on, she loved cooking. She even had her own pasta maker. One of the memories that haunted her most was the time that she was six years old and she had gone into the kitchen to make herself something to drink. Jake was in a stupor and wasn't fit to tie his own shoes, so she was left to her own devices. She got a chair and climbed up onto the counter; somehow she managed to drop the glass that she was taking down. At the sound of the glass shattering Jake came stomping into the kitchen. By the time he got there, Alecta was already down trying to collect the broken pieces. He walked up to the child and smacked her hard across the face. As she flailed her arms to get away from him, he grabbed one and broke it; he just snapped her arm, like a wing off of a fly. "That'll teach you to be more careful, won't it?" was all he bellowed at her as he turned to leave the house.

Hours; that's how long she had to sit there in that house until Jake decided to come back home. Her arm was throbbing. She had to pick somewhere comfortable to sit and wait. She couldn't eat anything, because she only had one useful arm. She couldn't even get herself to a bathroom; she'd probably get a beating for that, going on herself. After what seemed like forever, Jake came back home. He promptly picked the little girl up and tossed her rather carelessly into the car. He drove her to the hospital and told them she had fallen down the stairs. Whether or not the doctor bought the excuse, he at least had the good sense not to challenge Jake. Most everyone was afraid of him, the doctor was no exception.

Even pushing 40, Alecta could still hear the snapping of the bones in her arm….she refused to have actual glass drinking glasses in her house as well as the normal sorts of dishes that most people had. The sounds of them clanking together made her sick on her stomach.

Getting something to drink, she finally started to calm down; her hands were still a little shaky, but she could deal with that.

Maybe tomorrow night she should go out on the town. She'd be starting her new job soon. And her nerves were a total wreck; perhaps going out and having a few drinks would help her chill out. She supposed that her nightmares were coming back so hard because she'd been cooped up in her new place since she moved in. Hopefully getting out for a few hours and having a drink or 12 would help her calm down a little bit; or it would at least tire her out enough that she might be able to sleep more than three hours a night.

She doubted it but she was hopeful.


	3. A River Runs Through It

**AN: Same old thing, I don't own CM or any of the characters, blah, blah, blah. Here's chapter 3 of 'What now?'….I'm still running with the original theme of the story, so no change there...And yes, I may have borrowed the phrase 'hot chocolate daddy' from Lisa Lampanelli.**

Well now, it's about 6pm. Alecta has spent her day fairly productively. She had gone through the room that is to be set up as a bedroom for her daughters and arranged it so that it actually looks like a bedroom. Over the last couple of months she has been going out and getting a few new outfits and toys for them; when they first move in with her they aren't going to have much of their own stuff from their old lives, and she can't bear to totally turn things upside down for them. There were two sets of bunk beds. She knew that they had friends that might come to stay sometimes and she wanted them to have the option of staying in the same room if they wanted.

Then she finished hanging some of the framed photos in the living room area, and making sure the lights over them were plugged in properly. Next she went through the kitchen and made sure all of the dishes were washed up and put away. She had just had a delivery of groceries, and put them away as well. The laundry was pretty much done. Alecta had done everything she could to keep herself busy so her mind wouldn't wander to much about the past.

As the clock struck 6 o'clock she decided to get a shower. After thinking about it all day, a night on the town may be what she really needed. She gathered her under garments together; red boy cut undies, and her screamin' red camisole top. She ran the water to the temperature that suited her while she brushed any tangles that might be in her hair out. Once she was stripped down she started the shower itself and climbed in. Alecta began with washing her hair pretty well, rinsing, and then adding the conditioner. Once the conditioner was in she began to wash the rest of her body, letting the conditioner have time to do its job.

As she scrubbed down, she had another series of flashbacks. One was of the times that her daddy had used a bathtub full of water as a 'punishment' for some imagined infraction. He filled it almost completely with ice cold water, and tossed her in clothes and all. He was angry at her about something, only God could know what it was. Jake, her father would ask her something and she would answer that she had no idea what he was talking about. Figuring she was lying, Jake would dunk her and hold her under for a minute or two, then pull her back up, sputtering and coughing. He'd ask her again, she'd give the same answer, and so it would go. He could do this as long as it would take before she just broke down and admitted to something she never did or had any notion of in the first place. She'd admit to robbery if he would just let her out of the tub so she could go get warm. But then, when she was out of the tub, she wished he would let her just stay there…it was never as simple as just letting her go and get some warm dry clothes. It could never be so cut and dry with him.

There was the memory of the few times that he would lower her down into the well in the bucket. He always knew that she was terrified of the dark and of snakes, and the well had an abundance of both. She would sit there for hours on end in the dark, her little feet just dipping below the water line, hearing the snakes slithering around just at the surface. She'd scream at first until her voice gave out and then she'd sit there and cry, not knowing what she'd done wrong to deserve this.

Alecta was so lost in the flashbacks, she had lost track of how hard she was scrubbing, or for how long. Before her time in the shower was up she had moved on to some of the worst of her flashbacks. She was onto the memories of the times that he would take her out onto the river in his little motor boat…it wasn't very big, just a little bass boat. Alecta was a terrific swimmer; most people that cared to take notice of her at all would know this. Jake would take her out into the river under the pretense that they were going to do a spot of fishing; he had to make it look good for some of the neighbors. They lived practically on the river, Alecta and her father did. Their house was at least 150yrs old and was built to front the river which was about 200 yards in front of their house; they had a private dock and everything. He would get her out there, making a great show for the neighbors. What they couldn't see though was that he had tied a rope around her ankles and tied her hands together. At the other end of the rope attached to her ankles was some kind of heavy block. Once they were out far enough he would toss the block over, then, looking around to check his surroundings, he'd toss Alecta in. While she was under water her father would be casting his line, fishing right on, as if nothing was happening. If the odd neighbor or two happened to ask where she was at, Jake would always mention that she was probably around swimming somewhere. The neighbor would move on. He'd leave her down there for a while, and then pull her back up; just like the tub, she'd be gasping and choking for air. He'd let her stay in the boat for a few minutes only to toss her right back into the water as soon as the mood struck him.

This was one of the reasons that she had felt so trapped all those years after her mother died. She didn't dare tell anyone what was happening. Jake had always told her that, if he felt like it, he could kill her and nobody would care enough to do a damned thing to stop him. Those 'fishing' trips on the river just proved him right. There were times he might have left her a nearly too long. And none of their neighbors ever really thought his activities were odd; or if they did, they didn't poke around in Jakes business. It was starkly obvious that there was no one that would or could save her; she would just have to endure.

The water in the shower running cold got her attention pretty quickly. She snapped to turn it off as soon as she could. Alecta had scrubbed so hard her skin was nearly raw in patches, and still she felt like she was caked in grime. There was no relief from that feeling, she felt like she would be covered in a layer of ick until the day she died.

There was no help for it now. She was going to have to go get dressed. Now because of letting the water run so cold for those few brief moments, she was shivering and her teeth were chattering. Alecta wrapped the towel around her tightly and hustled out to her room with her undies clutched in her hand. After crossing her bedroom and fishing clothes out of her closet, she tossed them onto the bed. As she sorted through her outfit for the evening, Alecta would swear she heard a voice in the hall way; had she been a gambler, she would have said it was her father's voice. But no, it couldn't be. He was in prison where he should be the last time she had bothered to look into the case. And the few 'staff' members that were on the premises were in other sections of the compound.

Alecta shrugged her shoulders and shook her head at her silliness. Old ghosts…damn them. She was just psyching herself out with these flash backs. It was a sure thing now that she had to go out, she was hallucinating now….that would go over really well if they gave her a psych eval for her new position. All she had to do was get dressed, put on a little light make up, and hit the town. That would make everything better. She had lifetime V.I.P. status at this bar/club establishment she was going to; she had dated the owner, a man known to most as Wolf, a very long time ago. And he owned several such businesses across the US, and she had access to them all; all she had to do was ask.

She dressed in her red undergarments, pulled on her vintage 'The Who' tank top, next she slid into her beat up jeans & sparkly belt, and then she pulled on some socks…she wasn't in a 'girly-girl' mood tonight. Next she ran a vented brush and comb through her hair to give her towel dried curls some separation. Before she had left the bathroom she had applied deodorant and her 'smell good stuff' in a light rose scent. Last but not least she pulled on her 'combat' boots. They made her think of her time in assassins training in Israel. As she walked out of her bedroom into her living room space she began to think about how long it had been since she had been to Israel and seen (or talked to for that matter) her old dear friend Eli.

Alecta grabbed some money out of her purse in case she had to have a few bucks for any reason, then she got her ID. She stuffed the money and ID into her pockets and called a taxi. She was traveling light tonight.

Once making it to the club she filtered her way through the crowd. Some people seemed to know her at least by her past reputation around the club circuit. And some were just getting in their two cents worth. But most of them seemed friendly enough. She danced for a long time, until the DJ started playing some tunes she didn't really care much about. As she decided to make her way over to the bar she spotted a group of people sitting at a table only a few feet away. Looking closer, she recognized two of the member s of the group. She saw Rossi sitting there, so he was still working for the bureau. Good to know. And then she saw Penelope; their eyes met at the same time. As excited as she was to see Pen and know that she was in good health, she knew that this would be awkward for them both, especially since she saw that hot chocolate daddy had noticed her, too. She saw him ask Pen a question, likely about Alecta's identity. In understanding and recognition, Alecta nodded twice to Pen before vanishing back into the crowd from wince she came and continued making her way to the bar.

Alecta saw the man trying to locate her out on the floor from his seat as he continued to speak to Pen; he looked like he'd seen a ghost. Things were going to get messy for Garcia and Alecta soon enough, Alecta felt as though they both deserved this one night of normalcy before all it came out in the wash.


	4. The Spirit of '76

**AN: Still don't own CM or any of their characters, drat. Thanx for the reviews and adding me your favorites lists (for those of you that have done so). The lumber mill and the explosion of '34 were real places. The lumber mill used to sit cater corner across the street from the house I grew up in as a child. One of the men who died in the blast was my grandmother's uncle Bill who built her old house in 1921. And the area that I grew up in is located right in the geographic region that incorporates part of the Great Dismal Swamp. And I did have several ancestors on my grandmother's side that fought in the Revolutionary War, and at least one that I am sure of (grandma's great-grandfather) that fought in the Civil War. Quite of few of the men in our family went through WWI & WWII. My great-grand father and three of his brothers all served in WWI, three of the four in the same company. So there's my little nugget of truth in all the fiction. Hope that everyone has a safe and happy 4****th****.**

Fourth of July. Grilling hot dogs and hamburgers. Cutting open some nice melons and having a few drinks with your friends either pool side or down by the river. Fireworks. 1776, America's struggle for independence from England. The Revolutionary war. That's what most normal people think of for the 4th.

As Alecta got ready for bed that night after coming back home, realizing that the fourth was only a few short days away, she began to reflect on _her_ 4th of July memories. The only thing that she had ever known that had been close to fireworks was the year she was about seven. She had been going through the fields that surrounded her house, heading to the stables to check on the horses her daddy always got for her. Suddenly his dog began chasing her and she started running as fast as her little legs could carry her. She knew that if she made it as far as the stables she could climb the ladder and get away from the hell hound. Her daddy's dog was aptly named, Satan; he was a pit bull. Jake thought it was funny. And he trained the dog to be twice as mean. Had the dog been owned by someone less sadistic, he might have had a chance to be a great dog. She wasn't quick enough. The hound of the Baskervilles caught up to her. All she really remembered was feeling the dog's front paws as he pounced and then his teeth sinking into the flesh at her side, then she screamed; as everything went black, Alecta swore she heard a gun-shot. When she woke up a little later, she was lying in a bed in this old shack that belonged to the elderly couple that lived up the dirt road from her house. Her injury had been bandaged and the old woman was sitting bedside patting Alecta's forehead with a cool damp cloth.

Apparently, the old man had shot her daddy's dog and had gone out to toss the carcass where he knew Jake would see it. Old man Stallings had to be one of the few people in town who didn't quake in fear of her father. If Jake got too testy with him, he shoot Jake too, and then bury him in a hole right next to his God forsaken dog.

So the sound of the shot gun blast was Alecta's fireworks, it would have to suffice.

The booze, there had been plenty of that; all those years that her father and his friends would sit around and drink case after case. The closest thing to grilling out Alecta ever got was the smell of the smoke from the cheap, stale cigarettes that they would light up and then put out on her.

As Alecta thought back to those days she would think of how ironic it all was. Between her house and Kevin's house they should've had Independence Day celebrations tied up with a bow. Their houses were at least as old as the 4th of July, if not older. How many ancestors between the two of them had been in the Revolutionary war? There was even a time they had found two uniforms (well portions of them) on the land between the two properties. One had belonged to a British soldier, and one had come from the Patriot side. Whether or not there had been a significant historical skirmish or if it was just a moment in time where paths were crossed merely by accident, neither of them ever knew. But Alecta had always treasured the two uniforms. Regardless of which side lost or won or whose side you were on, the men in those uniforms had been someone's son or brother or father or husband; each one had fought and maybe died for something they believed to be right. And now they were gone. Had they died in the battle? How badly were they injured? Did they live to return to their loved ones? What were their names? What did they look like? These were the questions that burned in Alecta's brain ever since the day they found those bits of uniform. What were the odds that the Patriot had been an ancestor of hers or of Kevin's or in all likelihood for both of them? In their town it wasn't uncommon. Every day she tried to picture their faces, what she dreamed they'd look like. The British soldier, would he have had his powdered wig that was always so fashionable at the time, or would he have settled on his natural hair color? Sometimes her imagination about the Patriot soldier was stronger. That didn't surprise her. Sometimes if she dreamed hard enough she could imagine him still wandering around the premises. That maybe, just maybe one day he'd bust through the door and make her daddy leave her alone, oh how she hoped so hard for it. But it never happened.

"Don't be silly,' she'd always scorn herself. Even if he, as a spirit, still walked the property the odds were that he was still mentally stuck in the war and would have no time for one little girl.

And around there, the way the beliefs of the town's people ran, there was every likelihood that he did still roam the land. The bigger question became what acre of land there wasn't haunted.

There was the old lumber mill that had exploded in '34, the explosion killed at least three people, maybe more. And now the property it had once occupied was over grown and looked just like any other wooded patch in the area. As a girl, Alecta, like most people avoided going by there-even during the daylight-alone. The one time she made that mistake, she'd heard a scream coming from the woods. It was a human sounding scream, but it was slightly off. She didn't have her dares to investigate alone. No thank you. The area was part of a large swamp system. Ever since the times of the Native Americans that inhabited the area there had been tales of people getting lost in the swamps and woods never to be seen or heard from again. Alecta looked up some of the tales…the old timers hadn't lied. There were more places that had that same eerie quality. All you had to do was walk out your front door.

The eeriness of it all didn't worry her much, except for those woods. She found the prospect somewhat comforting.

Now she washed her makeup off and brushed out her hair. She brushed her teeth to get ready for bed; she had an early morning, starting a new job and all.

As she walked into the bedroom and turned back her covers she thought some more about the coming days and what they would bring. She climbed up into bed, pulling her covers up, reached to turn out the bedside light.

"Goodnight Daniel Hobbs,' she whispered to the image of the Patriot soldier standing guard in the corner of her room.


	5. A Brave New World

**AN: Ok, so last chapter was a bit strange maybe. Back to our regularly scheduled program.**

The next morning Alecta got up after having had sporadic sleep at best the night before. She showered and washed her hair (yes, again…had to get bar crud and smells out there). She dressed for the day. Alecta pulled on a newer pair of dark wash jeans, no holes in this pair. It was one thing to be relaxed or casual at work, but you still had to maintain a certain level of respectability. And she pulled on trouser socks; she wasn't a huge fan of hose in general…to be sure they were one of the great inventions of Satan; right next to plastic wrap, bras, and onions. She put on a white camisole top. Over that she put a white oxford style shirt that had small red stripes on the vertical. Before tucking in her blouse she brushed and combed her hair out one last time to rid it of any little tangles that might have taken up residence. She applied a minimal amount of make-up. She loved her mineral make-up. It covered pretty well, but it was really like they said, you felt as though you had nothing on…she didn't feel like she was dressing up for Halloween. Light blush, a little eye shadow, bit of eye liner (in a near natural tone for her of course), a soft rosy shade of lipstick, gloss over that with a bit of clear lip gloss…nothing to it. Her make-up routine might take about five minutes. What nobody ever really guessed is that, although she had to look into a mirror to put her war paint on, she never actually _looked_ at herself.

Alecta didn't need to see her reflection. She looked so much like her daddy. She saw his face enough in her nightmares; she didn't need to see it looking back at her every morning as she got ready for work. Besides she was sure if she took much notice of her reflection she'd see what she was certain other people saw: failure. Utter failure. She didn't need to see that to know that she was never good enough for anything. She wasn't good enough to stop her daddy before it was too late for all those other women. She had failed to keep her family alive. And she had failed to be a good enough wife to Fletcher. What was it about her very nature that lead him to believe that she was meant only as some sort of game to amuse him and his worthless friends? Where had she gone so wrong?

As a finishing touch Alecta pulled the top and sides of her hair back off of her face and secured it with a silver clip, then the rest of her hair she ran her fingers through to fan it out neatly, so that it would fall into place.

Alecta walked into her living room and laced up a pair of suede boots similar in style to the ones she wore to the club the night before, only these were much more work appropriate. They were a charcoal color; not quite black, not quite grey. Just before walking out the door she grabbed her worn and faded brown messenger bag, slinging it over her shoulder, draping it over the rest of her body. She loved that bag. It had served her well over the years. It used to be a darker brown, but lightened with age. She also grabbed her turquoise colored pea coat. It may be on the verge of July, but you never know when you will be in an establishment that might be too cool for your liking; besides, sometimes she liked an extra layer between herself and the outside world.

She had called a cab about 15 minutes ago; the driver was outside at the moment. She gave a last once over to the living room to make sure everything was in order and she walked out of her citadel into her new life as a FBI profiler. Alecta just hoped to God that she was better at this than she had been in previous endeavors in her lifetime. And she hoped, as well, that for once…just for once, that the ghosts of her pasts would just stay where they belonged.


	6. Day One

**AN: Chapter 6 of "What Now?"…I'm anticipating it being short…I was kind of at an impasse with this story…kind of like when I hit chapter 7 of "Who Are You?"….this is just like that…hopefully this one won't be nearly 8,000 words like that one was. This I think, will be a look inside of Alecta's head (well more of one) as she gets her first impressions of the BAU. And as always, lemme know.**

That cab ride was quick. Alecta didn't think she'd ever seen a city go by in such a blur, and she'd ridden in taxis and all forms of public transit in some rather questionable countries.

Now she was going through the security check point at the federal building. Tedium. That's all it was, but whatever.

After receiving her visitor pass from the guard, she was passed off to a lesser ranking agent, she thought he said his name was Anderson. Not too shabby, he was cute, in a way. Not her type. But then again, maybe she should change her type. The last couple of times she picked for herself they were EPIC FAILS.

Of course she just simply chided herself about not even getting through the door of her new job without checking out the other agents…good grief Charlie Brown; she really needed to settle down. 'Think divorce, think divorce…'

Anderson lead her to the correct floor, he was nice, trying to make small talk with her. She felt sort of guilty only offering the minimum acceptable answer to his questions.

"Where you from?"

"NC originally, but just moved here from L.A."

"What brings you out here from somewhere as nice as L.A.?"

"I got tired of the sunshine and pretty people."

That's kind of how it went the entire elevator ride. She knew he was just trying to be nice and show her it wasn't so bad….but she'd been charmed before. It wasn't happening again. Never.

Anderson led her through the huge glass doors that lead into the bull pen of the BAU. She looked around; there were some agents walking briskly back and forth, likely with information on whatever cases they were instructed to work on at the time. Some were standing around at each other's desks discussing the business of the day. Agent Anderson led her over towards a small group of agents that were gathered near a single desk with a rather young looking man sitting behind it. Suddenly Alecta recognized them from the night before at the club.

"Oh hell, oh hell, oh hell." That was the record playing in her head right that second; it only got louder in her ears and more demanding when the tall black dude turned around and she recognized him as the one that was friends with her pal Penelope. "OH DAMNIT!" Alecta almost wanted to yell out loud. Things just keep getting better.

If they were all the team she was going to be working with, then that meant that Garcia was somewhere close by, likely an integral team member as well….and that would lead to questions for both of them, and rather quickly at that. And Alecta was sure that neither one of them were so ready to clean out their proverbial closets.

There was a brief exchange between the four agents that were hovering around the desk and Alecta, where she tried to cover up her discomfort by telling, Agent Morgan was it, that he should thank his mother. It was the first thing that Alecta could think of that sounded like it might throw them off the scent of fear…and it was actually quite accurate. That woman deserved a medal; perhaps with enough badgering she could be entered in the running for a Nobel Peace Prize, for genetics maybe.

'Down girl,' Alecta had to chastise herself yet again. 'Dude, really,' that was all that she could think as she tried to be nonchalant about everything.

Mercifully, Agent Hotchner came in to save her from making a total ass out of herself.

Sign paperwork, gladly, if it got her the hell away from them for a few minutes and she could pull her thoughts more together. The fact that she was going to be working with Garcia, and THESE people, had thrown her for a loop. Suddenly she felt as though her carefully constructed house of cards was going to cave in.

There was a lot to juggle; stories, lies that had to be planted. Not lies in the classical sense of the word; it would be more like omissions or bending the truth until it screamed for mercy.

Her father. Her 'missing' years, when she had stolen the money and ran away. Her first baby. Her first husband. The undercover mission. The car explosion that killed her family. Her time in the funny farm. Her second husband. The miscarriages, especially the last one. Her twin daughters. The Agnes'. The George's.

That was just the tip of the ice berg about Alecta. She was pretty sure that the creators of soap operas and t.v. dramas would foam at the mouth to write this stuff. 'Dallas' never had it that good. But the whole sad affair was her life.

Sitting down in Rossi's office, sampling his Scotch, she was asking him to be a buffer, give her time to get her game together. But even at that, Alecta wasn't sure that even the great and powerful 'OZ' could block enough of the bull-shit that was going to hit the fan. Alecta wasn't sure what it was….there was something in the air….a tension, a crackling sound-sort of like when there's 'snow' on some Godforsaken station on your TV-but there was just something that made her uneasy. It made the little hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention, her stomach hurt something awful.

If only she could have predicted how the next few weeks would play out….maybe then she would look back on her life the last few months as the 'good ol' days'….it was doubtful, but maybe.


	7. Leaving On A Jet Plane

**AN: Finally! Chapter 7. It's been a while for this story. I was busy writing for my behemoth 'Who Are You?' and working. This chapter is intended to be a look at the thoughts that go through Alecta's head a little more…almost a journal entry of sorts. **

**I know Jenny Crum and I talked about this over FB, but I figured I'd lay it out here, too. I don't have a real method to my writing. I started with the first chapter (on each story) and when they were done, I would play the story out in my head how I wanted the next bit to go, and so on…I don't know how anyone else does it…but I've never been one for the 'process'. I can't do rough drafts, etc, it drives me nuts…so I free form it kinda. Hopefully it works for me. **

**PS-might be some durty words in this chapter, more than usual…beware.**

Well isn't this just dandy. My first case with my new colleagues and I have to go back to Los Angeles. Freaking perfect. My life must be some kind of cosmic joke. God has to be laughing 'til he or she pisses themselves over this. Seriously, the fact that I nearly died the last time I was in the state of California wasn't bad enough?

And I just know that Fletcher's gonna show his ass, he was always such a dick. He can't help himself. It's hardwired into his system to totally fuck up my whole program.

'Leavin' on a jet-plane…' I never knew until just now, I hate that song. I don't even know all the words, and I hate that song.

'Yes sir, of course I'll be with you on this case.' WTF, really, what are my choices?

Go, and solve the case and possibly have to dodge the bastard ex-husband.

Don't go, maybe get fired, become unable to pay rent, and then what?

I've been practically homeless before. I don't care for that at all. Even when I had a _house_ to live in I was still basically homeless. I had no family to speak of. Momma was dead. Daddy and his friends did everything but kill me. And then there was the foster care system. I would rather have had the judge throw me in jail next to some 'Hell's Angels' bikers. Same difference.

And did I mention that my new 'friends' are N-O-S-Y. Oh my God, are they asking a lot of questions. I'm glad I'm used to dealing with the BS. They are firing off the questions quickly, too. I'm starting to feel like that scene out of 'Beetlejuice' where they are in the cemetery and Beetlejuice's head starts spinning like the 'Exorcist'. Yeah, in about 10 more minutes, that'll be me. Or I'll just have an aneurism.

How does Pen do it? How has she been able to work with these people for this long and keep anything to herself? Oh yeah…she's a hacker. She can make anything pretty much vanish, perhaps I should hit her up and see if she can make the first 30 yrs. of my life disappear. Even if it was just the paper trail that was gone, that would be a start. I could become anyone that I wanted to be. There would be no chance of them finding out who I really am.

It wasn't all bad. I mean I had Kevin. Had. Kevin. He was this kid who lived near me when we were growing up. We shared ancestors a few generations back, not unusual in the tiny town we're from. The better question is 'Who doesn't share ancestors?' Our houses were both built within a few years of each other, making them two of the oldest privately owned structures in town. They were built around the late 1700's or early 1800's. My old house is showing its age, every last decade of it. Or at least I assume it is. I haven't returned to that house since just after the trial, and I only went back then so I could pack a small box of some of the few things I DID want to keep. I can't sell the house. For one thing, my ancestors built it. It's been in the family every since, I can't bear to think of total strangers walking all over that. And more to the point, it's practically unsellable. When potential buyers find out that someone was murdered there…eh, they tend to get freaked out about that. And I can't set foot back in that house. The last time I went inside, it wasn't for long, but I could still hear the screams of the women that died there. The whole house screams. Sometimes you have to really listen, but other times it's quite unmistakable.

Kevin's house looks lived in, yet well maintained. It was a house that was filled with love, not fear and domination. His house looks the way ours _should_ look. He made things bearable. Even though school was almost as big a nightmare for me as being at home was. At least when I was at school, I had Kevin.

I can remember the first time I fell in love with him; he shared his crayons with me. They were 'Crayola'. They always smell the best. It was a green crayon.

When we came into kindergarten the first day, nobody wanted to sit with me, nobody. Not even Kevin at first. But by the time he made it into class, the seat beside me at the round table was the only one left. He had no choice. I pitied him for having to sit beside me.

I knew what I smelled like. I had no mommy at home to take care of me, nobody to give me a proper bath, or to at least show me how to do it myself. My clothes had more holes than thread in them. My breath most likely reaked. My head itched, I couldn't remember the last time I had washed my hair. Nobody wanted to sit next the smelly girl. I didn't even want to sit next to myself.

He was awkward about sitting there at first. Neither one of us spoke; he moved his chair as far away from me as he could. Then came the moment I hated. We had to color some pictures that the teacher passed out to the class. The other kids started picking on me because I didn't have my own crayons. I couldn't take it anymore. I burst into tears. It was something so stupid, crying over crayons. But to a five year old, having your own crayons means everything. But, they didn't understand, I had larger issues. I hadn't eaten in days, hadn't bathed in weeks. By that point in time the last thing I could remember eating was a little bit of peanut butter out of the jar, with my finger, because there were no clean dishes in the house. There wasn't much peanut butter left, I had to be careful with it, and it was going to have to last me for God knows how long.

When I started crying, Kevin looked at me funny at first. But, then, after studying me for a second, I guess he saw something there. I don't know what it was. But, he gave me a green crayon. He even helped me color the grass in my picture. When he did that, all I could do was look at him like he was the most heavenly creature I had ever seen.

That was pretty close to the truth. He really did look kinda like those pictures of the chubby baby angels. He had very blonde hair that was curly, almost to the point of being unruly. He had sparkling blue eyes. When he smiled he had dimples, and there was a mischievousness that would come over his whole face. From that day on, he was my darling boy. I couldn't have told him that if my life depended on it; I hadn't spoken much, almost never, since momma died.

Another time that I think I fell in love with him…we were still in kindergarten. It was recess. I had gone back inside, saying I needed to go to the bathroom. I was in there for a little longer than necessary. Kevin came looking for me; by then we were decent friends. I had a bad habit of stealing from the other kids' lunches. I was so hungry, I just didn't care. Kevin caught me red handed. I was actually digging into his lunch box that day. As soon as he saw me, I closed the box up and put it back where I found it, never making a sound. I stood and waited, I knew I was gonna get it for this.

The next thing I knew, he came over and grabbed his lunch box in one hand, my hand in the other and we went to sit down on the magic circle that the teacher used for story time. He opened his lunch box up and opened the little bag that held his sandwich and gave half to me. He then gave me half of his snack, and he managed to find a cup in the room and gave me half of his drink. He sat there and had lunch with me right there on the magic circle. I cried harder about that than I did about the crayons. That was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me. I cried so hard I _couldn't_ eat. The guilt over what I had done had built up in my stomach 'til there wasn't room for anything else. He went home that day and told his mom about the funny smelling girl that he was friends with, and that she was so hungry. His momma knew from his description of me exactly who I was. Our mothers had been friends in school, his dad had known momma, too. Kevin's mom, Mrs. 'Ouisa, went with Kevin to the store and bought me two lunch boxes. She would pack one for me; Kevin would bring it to school with my lunch in it. I would eat half at school, and save the other half for later on at home in case I got hungry and needed something to eat at night. The next day she would send the other one, and I would bring the empty one back. That is how it worked. It wasn't much, but it kept me from starving completely to death.

Through trial and error 'Ouisa learned that I hated apples, didn't care a thing for onions. No applesauce, no apple juice, nope. And there better not be onions on my 'sammich' . Consequently, I learned that Kevin hated the crust on his bread, and if he had a soda, he hated to have to drink it when the top was foamy. Over time we set up a routine at meal times.

He began to notice that when it was time to go home from school I would become rather sad, almost afraid. One day he begged his momma to take me home with them. She did. She gave me a bath. She washed my hair. I didn't have any clothes over there at first, but she gave me a t-shirt to put on for a little while. It hung down almost to the floor on me, both her and Kevin had a bit of a chuckle about that, I was so small. She called her husband and told him to stop by the store on his way home from work and she gave him a list of things to pick up; she told him what she'd done and that she wanted to get me somethings.

I got a new outfit out of the deal. It was the first new clothes I had had in…gosh it seemed like forever. The pants were a little pair of jeans, and the top was a little green t-shirt that had some circles in different colors all over it. I got new socks and shoes to go with it. I almost squealed with joy over the new shoes. My old pair was falling apart so bad; there was next to no sole left on them anymore. They didn't do anything to keep out the winter cold or the mud puddles anymore. My feet were always so cold during the winter; my poor socks…the holes in them were bad enough, but when it rained, they never got dry. There was a little pink cardigan sweater, it was fuzzy and soft.

That wasn't the last new clothes I would get either. Once a week, Kevin came to school with a bag full of them; it was usually just one outfit, pants, shirt, socks…new undies on a few occasions.

When I got home with the clothes I hid them in a crawl space in my room so daddy wouldn't see them. I was afraid he'd take them from me; I also hid my lunch boxes there. And….and I hid my crayons and coloring books in there when Mrs. 'Ouisa would by them for me.

Kevin gave me my first whiff of a real Christmas tree. I still have the clippings he gave me off of his tree when we were kids. The smell's all gone, and they've dried out, the needles are deader than a door nail. But I still have them. I have kept all the little things like that that he gave me. They are the only proof that I have that there were a few fleeting good things to life back then. His buffalo nickel; still have that. The Revolutionary era coin he found; I've got it. I still have this little pin he bought for me one year for my birthday. It's fake gold, it's a little poodle with a black nose and eyes, it's wearing a little red sweater. That's probably one of the few things I have on this earth that I would fight someone to the death over. His momma helped him pick it out I'm sure. But it was one of the few things I ever got for my birthday that ever made it worth remembering.

My only major regret concerning Kevin is the way I left everything. I ran away from it all. I couldn't live in the foster care system anymore. It wasn't safe. I know I could have run to his home. They would've done all they could to help me. And with his dad being town sheriff at the time, perhaps that would've been the smart choice. But I was 15. My own father had done so many bad things, and then the 'fathers' that were supposed to take care of me in foster care…I wasn't sure who I could trust anymore. And besides, the judge had already told the Eason's (Kevin's parents) that they were not, as a family, a suitable candidate for housing me. Mrs. 'Ouisa was a nurse, she worked long ungodly hours. Mr. Dan'el was a sheriff, his job had long hours and was dangerous on top of everything. I didn't want to get them in trouble. They had done everything for me. I loved Kevin with every bone in my body…but I couldn't stay. So I ran. I broke his heart. He just couldn't understand why I didn't come to them, to him. His parents understood. I'd write to them whenever I could, usually once a month or so they always wrote back. I told them I was pregnant about a month after I left. The lady taking care of me, Heather, made me go see a doctor…I was so sick all the time. And the doctor told me how far along I was, I knew it was Kevin's. Even as sad as I was that he never spoke to me after I left, I was terribly happy. All I had to know was that it was his, nothing else about the baby mattered, except that it was healthy of course. I didn't care about the sex of the baby…didn't care about hair/eye color…all I knew is that I had a piece of all the good things I had ever had in life…it was still with me.

So, here I am. Getting on a government jet that is set to take me back L.A. If it wasn't for the fact that some of the missing or dead women were friends or acquaintances of mine I would've entertained the idea of backing out of this case, preferring to wait until I was better acquainted with the bureau's way of doing things. But I couldn't do that. No, hell no. Women were going missing from battered women shelters in Los Angeles. Those had been my stomping grounds so to speak. Not to mention the fact that when I lived out there I was part of the sex crimes division. A touch of irony, that. I spent the better part of half of my life trying to outrun the things that were done to me. Then I form a secret 'clique' that has carte blanche to deal with this sort of thing on a global scale, and I also was a detective for that division. No matter what I did in life, it always came back to that.

Well I can say that this will give the team a way of getting to know the real me. The jury is still out on whether or not this is a good thing.

Oh praise Jesus…that…Morgan, he's trying to be nice to me again. Great. Now what? And do I detect the faintest smile upon the face of one David Rossi?

**POST AN: the little gold pin described in this chapter is real. My real childhood sweetheart, Kevin, did give me one matching that description once for my birthday…I think we were in 2****nd**** grade. And yes, I do still have it. And yes, I will fight you over it, just ask my niece.**


	8. Room 410

**AN: Chapter 8 then. Another inside look into the mind of Alecta. Possible naughty language, because I can't help myself….if it wasn't for foul language, there are days I wouldn't be able to speak at all. **

So far so good. Oh wait, I just spoke to soon. Detective Rocha is asking me about how long I'm going to be with the bureau; he's telling me what Fletcher said about it. 'Um, I regret to inform you I don't give two shits what that pig says…' Don't say it out loud, don't say it out loud. Be professional. Take the high road, be a real woman at all times. And we passed that test with flying colors. Way to hold it together….maybe we can go out for drinks with ourself later and celebrate. Would a parade through town be too much to ask?

Dude, really? Hotch has just paired me with Morgan to go out to one of the shelters to question the staff. Thanks. Asshole. Has he forgotten that Morgan has been climbing my ass with questions since we finished the introductory paperwork at the office? I think I should receive some kind of gold medal in self-restraint or I would have shot Hotch for that move. GRRRRR! Asshole…just asshole…that's all I can even think about right now. Yeah, I can hear God laughing at me now. This has to be a Karma thing. Now I'm left to try to figure out what this is payback for…drop me a hint, just a little one.

Wouldn't you know, the shelter we wind up going to is one of the last ones I was allowed to stay at before I got banned from them all together. And the lady we speak to is Miss Marie. Lovely woman, kind to a fault. She was good to me, a really dear sweet woman. But I swear to you now, if she says one more word about my situation in front of 'new people' (i.e. Morgan) again….she's not making it any easier to keep things to myself.

Jazzy is still here with her mother, Monique. Well at least they're not at home with Monique's husband. Of course, after the last time he and I had a run in, I think he may stay as far away from them as humanly possible…..I wonder if he still walks with a limp? No matter.

Jazzy reminds me of my twins. I still have to see if I can make time to go past the Tea Room and pick them up before we go back to Quantico. Hotch should be fine with it, but…besides, that's going to open up the door to a million other questions that they haven't even dreamed of asking yet. 'Cause yeah, the first 500 haven't entertained me enough.

I got a little box from Jazzy, she said some man gave it to her and told her to give it to me. No, that's not cryptic at all. I have to send her away before I open it. Depending on what's in this box, it may be too graphic for her to see. I don't want the child in therapy until she 75 over something I did. Nice. A human tongue, I wasn't expecting that.

I asked Morgan to make a stop before we head straight back to the precinct. He wants to know a little something about me. Fine, I'll play ball for a minute. Besides, he was trying really hard on the plane to be nice to me. It wasn't his fault that I was jumpy. I have to remember to stop blaming everyone for the things that have happened to me. Morgan isn't Fletcher. Nobody is.

He makes a right into the parking lot I indicated. Shady View motel. Shady is right…and there's not much view…not unless you consider enterprising young women making a buck or the dope dealers slinging their wears a view. You have to pay by the hour here, mostly because with the kind of clientele they have there's no guarantee that anyone would live long enough to pay by the week. It's a rough side of town to say the least.

Morgan follows me up to room 410. I always thought it was ironic that those were the first digits in the abbreviation for my birthday. I always stayed in this room. It was my room. Just like at some of the other flea bag motels around town, I would pay an obscene amount of money to the manager to keep it vacant for me, in case I needed someplace to run to.

They haven't even cleaned the room up from my last 'stay'. Not surprising. The city is likely on the verge of shutting the place down. The cops are sick and tired of coming out here so many times a month. There should be a police substation and a donut shop in the lobby.

"What is this place?" Morgan asked me. He could see the blood on the carpet and the walls…the broken furniture. The window that my head went through was still busted out.

I told him the truth. This is where I was staying before I moved to Quantico. This is where Fletcher hunted me down. That window was where he slammed my head through, giving me a terrible bleeding wound to the forehead. That chair in the corner was broken when he used it to hit me over the back. The TV will never be the same I can guarantee you of that; not only did Fletcher throw it in the floor, breaking it into several large pieces, but he tried to strangle me to death with the cord from it…he had the cord wrapped around my neck so long and so tightly I still have the 'rope burn' from it around my neck.

Morgan looked at me with those expressive eyes of his. It's the look I dread seeing. The 'I'm sorry, I never imagined…' look. Now, will it be like that every time he looks at me, or will I still be the same_ ME_ I was before we came here? If he can treat me vaguely like normal, I think I'll be alright. Nobody has ever made a big deal out of my safety or lack thereof, and there's no reason to start now.

I'm a grown woman, well at least age wise. I maybe be the height of an average 10 year old boy, but I am still a grown woman. I have taken care of myself one way or another all my life. Nobody ever troubled themselves to care about me before. I barely remember my own birthday…I know the date of it is, but I never actually pay attention to when it gets here. I'm not one of the 'normal' kind of girls.

I was never meant for the ranch style house with the white picket fence, the 2.3 kids and the damned dog. I never dreamed about that…I never wanted that. I knew better than to even think of it. That life wasn't for me. Those things are meant for the nice girls who have both parents, who's daddy doesn't come home drunk every night and crawl into their beds with them. The good life is meant for those girls that were the homecoming queens and captains of the cheerleading squad. I was the girl that everyone looked at and shook their heads like it was my fault that my father had been raping me since I was two.

Yeah I must be to blame. It's all my fault. Because that's not the normal way for a father to behave towards his daughter…so what did I do that was so bad that one day he woke up thinking that that sounded like a good idea. Either that or they all still blame me for the way momma died and the fact that I lied about it to the cops. Either way, _**they**_ all blame me for something. I am the bastard child of dirty secrets, shame, and murder. I will never have the nice house, the cute kids, and the yappy ass dog. No nice, normal guy will have me. I can't blame them for that. If I was one of them I wouldn't pick me either. I'm a head case. But that doesn't stop me from having the same wish I have had since the beginning of time…that one day I will wake up and the fighting and the struggle will be over and I can live out the rest of my days in peace and quiet. I'm so very tired of the fight. I don't know how much more I have left in me. Hopefully, whatever I have left is good enough.


	9. Let It Go

**AN: Chapter 9 is up now. More of a look into A's inner thoughts….which way do ya'll prefer this particular story to be told…this way, reading Alecta's thoughts, or the other way I was writing it to begin with…I'm thinking the first few chapters needed to be told the way they were…but I'm kinda liking this way more…we'll see. A dirty word or two in here (including an F-bomb). On with it then.**

So I asked Morgan to keep his mouth shut about what I showed him. I let him know that Garcia knew about it, as does Rossi, but that nobody else did and I wanted to keep it that way for as long as I could. He said he'd cooperate. I mean I understand why he wants the others to know, there shouldn't be very many secrets in a team like this…but I'm just not ready to air all of my dirty laundry just yet. I mean I'm still healing from some of the injuries I got in that fight. Morgan is good at keeping it quiet so far.

When we got back to the station, everyone saw what was in the box, and Rossi made some sort of comment about why I was behaving the way I was. Of course Hotch has to ask what's on his mind about it. And for the sake of argument, Rossi tells him…tells them. And Morgan played it off, rather well I might add…nobody called him on it….he asked Rossi what everything was about between me and my estranged husband.

Speak the name of Satan and he shall appear! My day just got even better. I take back what I said about Hotch earlier. He's still an asshole. But I'd save my bullet at this point. So Fletcher is here. Awsome. There's a part of me that's petrified. I mean, just, what three months ago, he did the best he could to beat me to death. And here he stands mere feet from me.

But there is also a part of me that just dares him to lay a hand on me now. Please do. I want to see four of five federal agents pull their weapons and lay your ass out. I would pay to see that.

Gotta take a deep breath and exhale. Just find out what he wants and get rid of him. Don't need any crazy stuff happening at work….there are more important things at stake right now.

He only came to drop of some things that were mailed to my old address with him by mistake. Awww, how nice of the dick. If they weren't important to the case I'd do my dead level best to make him eat them. God bless David Rossi…he's so cute stepping between Fletcher and myself. I don't have the heart to tell him that if Fletcher wanted to get to me, that he'd have NO problem going through Rossi to get me. Of course, let him lay one finger on my Rossi, I will kill him dead.

I know I should let this go, let him drop of the package and then leave. But there's this nagging voice in the back of my head….I have to ask this question or I'm going to stroke out thinking about it 'til the day I die. I bite the bullet and ask what I want to know the most. I asked him if he ever, at any time during our marriage, loved me. He basically told me NO; he said that there was a bet….they were hedging bets to see if he would be able to get to me.

I was a game to him. After my first husband and children died, I was so very lost for a while. After the things I've seen, I am sure that most anyone would be. I was reckless. I didn't care about my safety on the job. The captain had a hard time finding partners that would work with me, they were all afraid I had some kind of death wish…When you're right, you're right. At that time it's quite possible that I did have a death wish. I can't deny it.

And then Fletcher came along. He charmed the shit right out of me. And then he beat the shit right out of me. I should have seen it coming. Daddy was always right before. No decent man would ever really want me. And the few times in my life that I had a real chance at a decent guy, I lost everything.

Kevin. Yuri. Alistair. The three times in my entire life that I ever really loved anybody…or that anybody loved me…and two out of the three are dead. What's that say about me? I am the kiss of death for anyone that gets too close. If you value your life stay as fucking far from me as possible. And even Kevin, he's alive and kicking...I lost him a long time ago. As much as we ever loved each other, he now hates me in equal measure. I don't blame him. What I did, running away, was low. He deserved better.

I'm getting a headache. The stress of everything is getting to me…I have to go back to the hotel and lay down. I just need to rest. The nightmares haven't gotten better. I'm still struggling so bad with them. I wonder how long a person can go without sleep or just rest in general before the body just shuts down? I could ask that Dr. Reid…I'm sure he would know. Dollars to donuts.

It's not really important. I just want to leave here and go lay down, and shut my eyes for a little while. I am so very tired. Hotch has cleared me to leave for the time being, likely because they are close to wrapping up for the day anyway…he wanted Emily to come with me in case I needed any help. Nope. I don't think it'll require any help for me to just shower and collapse into bed. I just want to be alone with my thoughts and just….


	10. Marlowe, Shakespeare, the 'Dew Drop Inn'

**Chapter 10 **

_**Marlowe, Shakespeare, and the 'Dew Drop Inn'**_

**AN: Ok. So I haven't written on this story in a couple of weeks. My bad, I was busy with my other story 'Who Are You?'…hoping everyone is liking either effort thus far. Anyway, on with it then. And by the way, yes, I'm keeping with the introspective style as I've had the past couple of chapters now…**

Just my luck. I'm in the bed, sobbing my eyes out in private; everyone thinks I _never_ cry. For the most part, they're right. I don't cry…at least not when I have witnesses. Crying never got me a damned thing. Crying never gave me my mother back. Crying and begging God to give me back my husband and children didn't work. I was just one of the _damned ones_; one of those people destined to never have a quiet, normal life. From the day I was born, hell almost from the day I was conceived, I had never had a peaceful moment on this planet. Some things never change. So I never cried, when there were others around. I sucked it up. Sure I'd cry my eyes straight out of their sockets behind the comfort of a closed bedroom door. But that was it.

Later that night, I heard whoever had the adjoining room come into their side to get ready for the night. I still hadn't had the nerve to go see who it was. And by now I had cried so much I didn't have the energy to get out of bed to do anything about it…if they wanted to come and check on me, it was up to them. I wasn't moving.

I had finally cried myself into a fitful sleep. There's no rest for the wicked as they say. I tossed and turned, but never really got any rest. It was just sleep for the sake of closing my eyes and watching the terrible images that played before them all day in the dark.

About four or five in the morning there was a knock at the door to my room, someone saying they were with house-keeping and had and extra blanket for me. I got up going to the door, half asleep. I hadn't ordered an extra blanket and was going to tell them so when I opened the door. I didn't even check the peep hole, which was totally out of character for me. I was so tired, I just wanted to go back to sleep. Even if I wasn't getting a restful sleep, what sleep I was getting was better than nothing; at least it kept my body from shutting down entirely.

When I opened the door, one look at the man on the other side of it was enough for me to know that I had made a horrible mistake. I tried shutting the door, but he kicked it back open swiftly, knocking me backwards. He came after me then, pinning me to the bed, covering my nose and mouth keeping me from being able to breathe much at all. He told me that if I made too much noise and drew the attention of my team members he'd kill whoever was first through the door. My mind began to whirl with the thoughts….Who would be first through the door? Hotch had a son, as did JJ. I couldn't possibly make them a target. Morgan was a nice enough guy; he was trying really hard to be a good friend, even if it was based on my friendship with Garcia. I didn't care, the way my life has been, I'll take all the friends I can get. And Emily I felt like I had a real sister for just a second. I'd never had a sister. All I had was a wastrel half-brother, who was good for absolutely nothing. He's the kind of guy the cliché 'the apple doesn't fall far from the tree' was invented for. He was just like our father. And I never met his mother, but knowing the kind of women that my father usually hung around with after momma died, she couldn't have been much to write home about. She may have been physically beautiful in some way. But I can guarantee you that she was a cheap prostitute or some other type of skanky woman that he picked up in one of the low rent bars he frequented. They always were. I had a lot of 'aunts' that I only met once. Our house was like the 'Dew Drop Inn' guests check in, but they were never allowed to check out.

So I needed to protect Emily. I was just getting to know her, but she was the closest thing I had to a real sister, I couldn't….and then there was Reid. Dear, sweet, innocent-ish, Reid. He was a talker, especially when he got nervous, which seemed to be normal around me. He could ramble on about inane facts on any subject, I swear. I defy anyone to pop-quiz that boy any day of the week, you will lose. But there were moments in the short matter of hours that we had known each other, that his babbling was actually quite a comfort to me. There was constancy there; a droning in his voice that would drown out the screaming I could hear in my own head….I would shut my eyes and just listen…it was great, that for a few minutes, I could hear something besides the screams. It never lasted long, but it was something. For just a second there was peace in my head. I was beginning to live for those brief moments. I would ask him things, his thoughts about anything I could come up with, just to get him started, much to the dismay of my new team mates.

And my Rossi. There was no way on this earth he could be first through the door. No. I wouldn't let that happen. He was the one decent person I can remember. Even if we lost touch after his visit to me in the funny farm, the point was, he came. He treated me like I was still a person and not some science experiment…some sideshow there for everybody else's amusement. The fact that he treated me like I was still a human being meant more to me than anyone will ever know.

And it was for that reason that I told the man that had busted into my room at 4 in the morning that I wouldn't make a sound. I barely knew these people. But they seemed like decent people, and already they were treating me better than I had been treated in my entire life. They had someone at home that cared for them. I couldn't let them be hurt.

But that didn't mean that I wouldn't make this guy pay. I scratched his face up beyond all recognition, even managed to clock him pretty good, with the bedside clock no less. That wound was gonna leave a bit of blood on the sheets. Hopefully, the team would get everything to the lab and find out what they needed from it.

Seeing that I was going to be a bigger problem than he expected this idiot called in a friend to help get me out of the room. Awesome, more evidence; this was the thought that I had as I grabbed a fist full of hair on this second guy and yanked on it, hopefully leaving a few strands behind for the team to find.

In a matter of moments I was being shoved into the trunk of a car. Seriously, the trunk, they couldn't have rented a van? How low have I fallen that I don't even warrant the rental of a panel van to stretch out in? Now they are driving me to God only knows where. I hope the team can find me. Just now I can't think of how they will…yes I can. I have to think of how they will, it will calm me down.

They will see the blood, think for a second that it's mine, freak out, and send it to trace. Hotch will get Garcia to look up everything they have on their person of interest, Mark Goodnight. That should get the ball rolling. I just hope that Monique and Jazzy are ok. Jazzy was fine in that picture they showed me. But they wouldn't tell me about Mo. That's the only way they got me out of that hotel room. I wouldn't have screamed to bring my team smashing through the door to certain death for at least one of them. But I would have found a way to beat the shit out of that first guy if I thought for one second Mo and Jazzy were at all safe.

I have to remain calm. I think of Reid's statistics. The last conversation we had at any great length was about whether or not the Elizabethan poet Christopher Marlowe had been a double agent during Elizabeth I's time on the throne, and if so, who were the possible murderers or conspirators in his murder; as well we talked about the true identity of Shakespeare, so far between the two topics, this is the only one we seem to agree on at all. I hope we can continue this when they find me. And I have to see my daughters again. I have to get out of this for them.

**Post AN: Odd place to end it, yes, maybe. But here ya go. I will have to see where the next chapter takes me. Ever the same. (note the reference to Queen Elizabeth there). **


	11. Jane Doe, Assholes, Death Rays

**AN: So I'm blaspheming to write a chapter of this before I write another chapter of 'Who Are You?' Perhaps, but I had neglected this story a bit much over the past couple of weeks, and I'm trying to make amends with it. As always, on with it.**

**Jane Doe, Assholes, Death Rays**

Well, I'm in a cage again; not the first time this has happened. Although, I must say, this one is bigger than the ones I usually get stuck in. Wow, that just sounded bad, even in my own head. I gotta get new friends. My roommate has been dead for days; she's starting to smell. I don't know her. I've never worked her case; she's not one of my Agnes's. I wonder if she has a missing persons file or if she is a real 'Jane Doe'. No matter, the only way I can help her now is to make sure these assholes die or rot in jail. I vote they die. But, since I'm wearing a badge, I have to do the 'right' thing; that means that they will only rot in jail. But the worms are hungry; poor worms.

I still haven't been able to lay eyes on Mo or Jazzy. I hope they are alright. Stop worrying, inspect your surroundings….

Smelly roommate, check. Cage with locked door, which is at the _**top of the cage**__…._assholes! check. My ankle is sprained or broken, I will have to mind that when I try to climb out of here. Must get a key. There were stairs leading to another floor. Predictable scum, always picking warehouses; lucky that these places are usually laid out on a similar floor plan. So there is probably a large room upstairs, a former work room with old machinery scattered everywhere. But there will also be an old break-room. Mo and Jazzy will likely be in there, and I can almost guarantee that it is to the left of the catwalk up above. The old super's office will be towards the back on the right….

There were two men that came after me. That means that there had to be at least one man left here to watch Monique and Jazzy. Odds are that he kept Jazzy at gun point the whole time to make sure that Monique was easy to keep control of. The first guy that grabbed me last night, he doesn't want to hurt anybody, that's why he gave me the warning, if he didn't care he wouldn't have given me that much, and when someone came to save me, he would have started shooting.

I might as well get some….hang on. Oh fabulous. Here comes the stereotype. He thinks he's gonna put his hands on me. Go ahead, do it. I have 'heard' of men that wound up in the river the next morning for less. But those were the old days. Things have changed so much over the years; I may not inspire that kind of loyalty anymore. We will have to test the theory. Until then I have to be my loveable, charming self.

Now it's trying to form sentences. I can't be dealing with this idiot all day. Wait, how long have I been here already? They must've doped me with something. I've been out a while apparently. Cobwebs, freaking cobwebs.

So he's smart enough not to come near the cage; brighter than I took him for. His momma must be so proud…doubtful. His mother is likely dead. Lucky her, she doesn't have to hear him droning on and on. Really?

Oh crap, he's got me by the throat. The room is fading. _**I hear the team.**__ Oh my God they made it. That didn't take as long as I thought. _** Thank you, God. ** I was wrong about him on a number of fronts this time.

And merciful heavens, their noise has distracted him….Oh, look, him hit his head on the bars of the cage; oops!

Morgan is the first one I see through the door, not surprising. I have to get the key to the top of the cage. Yes! Score.

The team took down the suspect; he's in cuffs, spewing his shit about the murdered women needed to be put in their place. I wonder how much 'kool aid' he drank. Whatever, I have to get to Monique and Jazzy.

It's as I thought. They had attacked Monique. But she was clever enough to try to keep Jazzy as far as possible; she made Jazzy play the quiet game, to make the suspects think she was asleep and would be of no use. Luckily, Jazzy is still at the age where that trick works, either that or she's just a very intelligent child and knows to do as her mother says. A bit of both I think.

I had to be with Monique while they ran the sexual assault exam. Of course it was positive. Hotch can suck it, I'm not taking one. What happened to me before they found us isn't the issue. I don't care what he says. We don't need to get them for assault on a federal agent; we have them for sexual battery and kidnapping and several murders. My name doesn't even have to be mentioned. He needs to back off. Apparently my death ray eye still works, he's backing down, at least for now. Awsome, now we can get the hell out of Los Angeles….after I swing past the tea room.

Next hurdle-introducing the team to children they didn't even know that I had. Fun times.


	12. Smooth Sailing

**AN: Sorry I've been so long to update this story. This may be the last chapter on this one….Although I like the overall premise of this story, taking a look into the thoughts and mind of the main character, the jury is still out on how I feel about the story itself. If I had been able to figure out a way to write both of my stories (so far) as just one large story in a way that suited me, I would have done that. But I know how ditzy I am, and I didn't want to confuse myself so bad, nor anyone else for that matter; so I made two separate stories out of it…So yeah, I think this may be the last chapter of this story, unless someone out there in the world requests more…I plan on writing a third story, a continuation of my first one (Who Are You?), no idea yet how long of a story that one will be though, and it will feature my OC yet again. Enough of my blabbering, on with it then.**

**Smooth sailing and the Ghost of Christmas Past**

Well, the team took the introduction of my daughters easier than I expected. I got a few strange looks, but not much more. There for a minute I was worried Hotch was going to give me a hard time for not telling Fletcher, the father about them. In the end though, I had nothing to worry about.

We've been home only about 24-36 hours and there's still no rest for the wicked. Morgan brought me and my daughters, as well as Jazzy, home. That was an exercise in crazy. He got tickled a couple of times at how my daugthers seemed to delight in torturing me with questions; four year olds think they have to know everything, and mine are no different. They are actually worse. Jazzy has been quiet mostly. But she has a lot going on in her head. She's like Emma, when she is ready to talk to me she will come to me and let me know. I know not to pry, because she is also like Sofie, and if I push her too much she will just rebel and I have enough to worry about.

Last night, Derek got a brief glimpse at how bad the nightmares can get. And that douche put that jug of um….Nyquil? on a shelf that I can't reach…you let me get a stool and I will be able to sleep like a baby. So what if I don't get to wake up in the morning. Waking up in this life can be a tad over-rated some days anyway. I will say, in Derek's defense, he promised to keep my secrets as long as he could. I hope so.

Immogene, Theo, and the other girls fixed Vindaloo last night; Kong wanted to make it, but I enjoy being able to taste my food. The last time I let him make me some Vindaloo, he set me up. That asshole made Phall last time. That particular style of Vindaloo should come with its own rescue squad, it's so friggin' hot.

Tonight, tonight the girls are fixing the kind of food I grew up with; some fried chicken (using my grandmother's recipe) with the little green peas, mashed potatoes with gravy…oh those skanks! They cut onion up all over the cucumbers in vinegar. They're going to get it. They know I hate onions. I thought I raised them better. Sofie and Emma have been telling me about the 'bad people' they saw today when they went to the grocery store with Immogene and the girls. Tonight Derek's team will meet my team, well a good bit of them. I don't have room for the entire extended family. And I have invited my cousin, Gibbs, he's with the local NCIS; hopefully he will have the foresight to bring Ducky….I miss him. And Tony; Tony is one of my favorite perverts. He loves almost all movies, and that makes for some off the wall conversations. Ziva, one of my sisters from another mister. McGee will be a nice touch, someone for Reid to talk to. Oh, Reid, we have to get on to one of those epic discussions sometime soon. In the short couple of weeks that I have been with the team, I have learned that it is fun to mention something to him, some arcane point, and get the information about it wrong. Inevitably he will try to correct you, and that will start him off on some tangent about some historical fact that has some link with the conversation that you're having. It drives the others a little crazy, but that is just an added bonus…except for the fact that I think I almost pushed Hotch too far with it the other day.

I even allowed Gibbs to bring Director Vance….he's not such a bad guy actually.

Oh hell. Now who is James yelling at? I know that voice, or I did. It's from ages ago.

Kevin! Are you shitting me? WTF? Twenty-five years, I get nothing out of him. He doesn't even send his daughter a birthday card or a Christmas card…nothing. I don't care about me….I don't want anything for myself, not one damned thing. But for my daughter….all I wanted was one letter, or a card, or a phone call…something, anything. What is he doing here now, after all this time? This had better be good. I have every right to break his knee caps.

Now; he chooses to get into a screaming match in my library over the fact that I left poor little him NOW!? Are you for real? I know this doesn't always have to be about me. But he wants to talk about how HE was hurt….he was hurt. Seriously? He was hurt.

I went for days on end without food, because daddy would rather drink. I watched him murder momma. How many years was I daddy's _sweet little girl_? And this asshole wants to talk about how badly he got hurt. He keeps acting like we're supposed to pick up like nothing has ever changed between us.

"Hi honey, it's been so long; by the way, have you met your daughter?"….I don't fucking think so. He comes into my house spouting this…

"_Jake's out."_

Hearing those two words…the blood is rushing through my ears so fast and hard I can't think straight. After what Sofie and Emma told me about the man that they saw that had a funny way of talking….I have to sit down…I don't feel so well. This isn't going to be good.

**POST AN: Ok. So, the way this one has ended…I think there will be at least one more chapter. I was sooo ready to wrap this one up. Ain't that the luck. Anyway, that's life I guess.**


End file.
